Speak Slow
by ghoulgraverobber
Summary: Does it matter that I can hear you breathing next to me? No. Because every breath is just another reminder that you'll eventually be gone. But I know, I know, I know, you're still my love. Mello and Matt - from the begining to the end.


A story accounting for Mello and Matt from the begining to the grand finish.

I've grown tired of writing Naruto ficcies, so I tried at a Death Note one. This will be a multiple chapter story, the first chapter - this chapter, being sort of like an "introduction."

The story will focus mainly around Matt and Mello, but will encompass all the people they meet/see throughout the series. Of course I'll add my own personal touch to things, and make stuff up like how they were orphaned, how they met, etc. It will also contain fluff between Mel & Matt, because I always thought of them (in my own little world?) as being more than "just friends" if not, very close friends. Very, very, very close friends. And who knows, if theres enough demand, I might throw in some lemons or other citrusy stuff. Or eventually make them a "couple." Or something to that relevance. But that's then, this is now! So until then, we'll see.

Disclaimer; **don't own, don't sue.**

enjoy.

Life for you has been less than kind

So take a number, stand in line

We've all been sorry, we've all been hurt

But how we survive, is what makes us who we are

--

Minds are beautiful, they are fragile, they are wonderment. They are an enigma that is so near being solved. Minds, are where all your memories sleep - that time at the beach when you laid in the sun, licking a heaping pile of ice cream in a cone, the confection dripping down your fingers, making a river of sweetness down your extremities. When you laid sleeping in bed, and your mother came in and kissed you softly on the head, the touch felt even in your sleep. The memory of when you ran around in the yard, playing with the hose, yelling and jeering, not caring who heard you.

It is where your memories wake. The ones of the times you spent snuggled in your sheets, eyes brimming with tears, wetness wanting to escape and let your chapped cheeks drink. The time your hand shook as you punched someone right in the face, tooth and blood visible. When you had no one to hold you when all you wanted was the smallest bit of contact - that little bit of warmth to swell your now cold world.

Our mind, is where our memories sleep, where they play, where they stretch and yawn. Our mind is a playground for our thoughts. What you where thinking as you made your first friend, their name forever imprinted in your mind, this person your savoir in the lonely world you lived in. The words that where racing through your head as that friend became your first crush, the butterflies that danced in your stomach, the rigor it was to breathe when they where around. What you thought when they hugged you, when they played games with you.

Our mind, is where our thoughts fight. What you where thinking when your heart was broken, torn into tiny pieces, shattered, frozen, then shattered again. What you repeated to yourself when you threw yourself against the wall in rage, because you couldn't amount to what people wanted you to be, screaming over and over 'pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!'. What you couldn't stop thinking when you saw a new face, a new opportunity, fly away because of your social anxiety, your anger. What you told yourself when you thought you'd never **ever** find someone like you.

It is where our thoughts bicker, smile, scream. It is where they nag and remind. Our mind is where everything happens. Our mind makes our decisions (what to wear? what to eat? what to say?) Our mind is where things interact, brush against each other. Our mind is where friction occurs.

Our mind is everything - it makes us who we are.

Mello preferred to forget his mind, because he wanted to forget who he was, who is, and who he will be. Mello didn't like to dwell, Mello didn't like to remember. Mello did whatever he could to keep himself occupied, so his thoughts, so his mind could not bother him. Because Mello's memories, the ones that played and skipped and where **supposed** to be jovial, were not. There were no sweet trips to the beach, no running around in the playground, no mommies kissing **his** head while he slept. No. There was none of that.

There was screams, blood-curdling, spine shivering, bone shaking screams. There was blood, splattered on the walls, on his face - never his. There was death.

That was Mello's childhood. That was what he tried to forget.

There was loneliness too, there was days spent locked in a room by himself, reading and studying instead of playing. There was fits of anger, there was rebelling, caretakers and staff having absolutely no idea how to break his solitude. No idea how to melt an impenetrable barrier.

That was Mello's upbringing. That was what he tried to forget.

Mello's memories where obviously not virtuous, happy, or anything along the lines of sweet and nice. They where what had happened. They where what people say make who he was. Mello did not want to be screams, or blood, or death, or loneliness. Therefore he forgot what he was supposed to be and was what he "wanted" to be.

There was one thing though. . .

Red, red hair. As red as cherries, as red as maple leaves, as red as Cherry Kool-Aid, as red as paint, as red as the sunset, as red as the blood running through his veins. Mello remembers red.

And green, green eyes. So calm, and caring. Illuminated in the moonlight, raking in every single detail of the blonde. Piercing, but not cold like Mello's own. They where sweet and beautiful. Mello remembered green.

Pale skin, chalky and glowing in the darkening twilight. Defined jaw line, tempting some ones fingers to run themselves along the firm edge. Lips tender and inviting, pink like rose buds, or flower petals, or fluffy sweet cotton candy on summer days.

Orange, ugly, disgusting, finger-printed, dirty orange goggles.

Mello remembered someone who changed his entire being, slowly sculpting his person. Forcing Mello to be not what everyone said he **should** be, or what Mello **wanted** to be, but, who he _should_ be.

Mello remembered Matt.

reveiw and please tell me if this is worth continuing! i know this is vague and sort of just barely introducing stuff, but i've already got the next chapter waiting, which is much more explainatory.

:D


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